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brigdhTitle: So Many Are the Crossings and the Roads
Author: Brigdh
Ratings/Warnings: PG/T. Some slight references to violence.
Disclaimer: The Benjamin January mysteries are by Barbara Hambly.
Notes: OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE I LITERALLY WROTE THIS WHOLE THING IN A WEEK.
A million thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
somebraveapollo, for very last-minute beta duty.
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hc_bingo for the prompts: dungeons, hypoglycemia/low blood sugar, nervous breakdown, and homesickness (wild card).
Summary: A Medieval Europe AU, set in the 12th-century Holy Roman Empire. Ben has been captured in battle and imprisoned in a dungeon. If he wants to get back to his home and Ayasha, he'll need to break out, get help, and walk across half of Europe. (This can be read without canon knowledge, but you should totally read the books and then squee about them with me.)
9,821 words. Also available on AO3
Many Are the Crossings and the Roads
They’d put him in the dungeon, and then they’d left, and Benjamin was beginning to think they would never come back. Perhaps this was no normal dungeon, but rather an oubliette. Perhaps they’d forgotten about him. Perhaps they had meant to return, but had been struck down by plague or battle or some God-sent devastation. Sometimes, when he had convinced himself that he’d been abandoned here, he thought about shouting until someone heard, no matter how angry they might be. He hadn’t yet. Not because he was ashamed of his fear, but because he dreaded to scream into the silence only to get no response.
The dungeon was damp, cold, and dark. The German winter was unlike any he had known before, and these stone walls were no protection. They might keep out the snow and the howling wind, but they seemed to convey the cold directly to his bones. The damp worked against him, leaching away what warmth he might have retained; now and then he heard a drop of water fall, somewhere in the distance and the dark.
And it was the dark that was the worst. This must be what being blinded was like, he thought; he couldn’t see his hands before his face, or the stones of his cell, though he supposed they were the same red sandstone blocks as the rest of the castle. It made it difficult to tell if he was awake or asleep, and he sought what comfort he could from that, retreating into memories of his home in Salerno, where warm breezes carried the scents of orange trees and the ocean. The best memories were those of Ayasha, his wife, who waited for him there, warm and welcoming as the land itself.
They’d left him a jar of water. It was icy and tasted faintly of fish, but seemed clean enough. No food, though. In a way, it was reassuring. It gave him some sense of how much time had passed. Between the dark and the isolation, it sometimes seemed that he must have been in this dungeon for months, even years. But how long could a man go without food?
Unless he had died without knowing it, and his bones, unconsecrated, still lay here beneath Trifels Castle, long forgotten and forever damned to wait. Perhaps Ayasha and all of Salerno had lived and passed long centuries ago; perhaps everyone he knew, including himself, was so much dust and ash; perhaps he would be here, alone, until Judgement Day.
When light approached, glimmering faintly against the stone walls of the corridor, Benjamin could have wept for joy.
He’d been in the dark for so long that the light seemed bright as the sun, and he held up a hand to protect his eyes. When he could see again, he found a woman standing before the dungeon’s bars, a horn lantern in one hand and a basket in the other. She was darker than was common in these Norman lands, and for a moment Benjamin wondered if he had gone mad and begun to see visions. He would have been grateful for any living presence, but it was Ayasha– beautiful, dark-skinned, black-eyed Ayasha, who could look like a desert spirit even when he wasn’t ill and alone– that he most longed for. But no. On a second look, this woman was tall and slim, her face prim and oval-shaped. She resembled short, high-spirited Ayasha not at all.
Disappointed warred with relief that he hadn’t entirely lost his senses. The woman knelt on the ground, well back from where he might be able to reach her through the bars, and set the lantern to her side before sorting through the basket. “You are Benjamin Ianuarius?” She spoke in Latin, and spoke it well, her words confident. Benjamin was grateful; the common language here was German, and he could speak that only haltingly.
“I am.”
She nodded and pulled a loaf of bread from her basket, placing it on the floor halfway between them, moving carefully to keep her hand out of his reach. A small wedge of soft cheese went beside it. Benjamin all but lunged for them, immediately tearing off a hunk of the bread with his teeth and swallowing it half-chewed. It was good: fresh, still warm on the inside, just the right crispness to the crust. She watched him coolly, registering neither disgust at his lack of manners nor pity for his deprivation. “If you eat so fast, you’ll make yourself sick,” she said.
She was right, and he forced himself to wait before taking another bite. He studied her; she was dressed as a nun, her wimple pulled tight to keep her hair from showing, and its white cloth was severe against her warm brown skin. She wore no gloves or jewelry, and her fingers were chapped with cold and work. Her habit was coarse black wool, and the rosary at her waist was made of simple bone beads. No noblewoman this, despite the evidence of her learning. “Who are you?”
“My name is Rose. I and my sisters are here to care for you.”
“Your sisters?”
Her smile was surprisingly wry for a nun. “There were prisoners taken other than you, you know.”
He remembered searching the dungeon on his knees in the dark, passing his hands over the floor cautiously. He wasn’t sure what he’d been looking for– a key? another door? a body?– but he’d found nothing. Mostly he had touched old straw, rotted to soft shreds, and in the corners something that felt like slime but which he supposed was only mold. At least it had passed the time. “I’d begun to think I was the only person here, free or not.”
She looked down. “That was... uncharitable of Duke Leopold. From now on, you should be seen to each day.”
“By you?”
“No, not necessarily. It could be any of my sisters.” Again dry humor escaped from beneath her serious demeanor. “They’re better nurses than I am, anyway. If you’re lucky, perhaps Sister Agnes will tend to you tomorrow. Her heart has been greatly moved by the plight of Tancred’s soldiers, and she considers herself honor-bound to show you every kindness.” Her smile flashed, brief as before. “And her eyes are very blue.”
“Does she speak Latin as well as you?”
“Ah, no,” Rose admitted, her face once more still. “Agnes did not take her vows out of a longing for our abbey’s education. Her family did not wish to pay her dowry.”
Benjamin wasn’t surprised by that, but the trace of bitterness in Rose’s voice made him wish he was. “I think I’d prefer it if you came instead, then,” he said, wanting to speak of lighter things.
She didn’t respond. She’d brought him water and a bowl for washing, and now she pushed them toward him. “Wash your face. You have blood dried here.” She touched her own face, behind the temple and near the right ear, though on her the spot was hidden beneath cloth. He echoed her movement, and winced when his fingers brushed across hot, swollen flesh. He gently probed the area, and though it hurt, there was no wave of dizziness or grayness to his vision, signs that would have indicated an injury to the skull. He wet the cloth Rose had provided and sponged carefully at the wound, but when he was done she shook her head and insisted he clean it again. Even this second pass did not meet her approval.
She started to rise from her knees, and then hesitated, eyes on him as though she could read trustworthiness, or its lack, from his face. Uncertain of how to reassure her, Benjamin sat motionless, but she made her decision without his assistance. She finished rising and moved close, taking the cloth from his grasp and washing his face herself. Her touch was not particularly gentle, but neither was she rough. She was rather like a woman doing laundry: thorough but detached. This near, he could see that her eyes were lighter than he had expected, a gray-green color like Salerno’s port on a stormy day.
Finished, she sat back and repacked her basket, preparing to take away the bowl, cloth, and lantern. “Wait,” he said, and she paused, glancing at him. “Leave the lantern. Please.” As soon as he’d said it, he felt foolish; of course he couldn’t expect her to walk the halls in the dark, and she might have many other prisoners to see to.
But when she spoke, she said, “The wick will only last another hour.”
“That’s enough.”
She pushed the lantern nearer him, again maintaing her distance, though she had been close enough moments before. He thanked her as courteously as he knew how, but she merely nodded, and took her leave silently.
***
Rose came again the next day, and the day after that. Though occasionally his food and water was brought by other nuns, none of them fascinated him as Rose had, and he looked forward to her appearance each day. Her visits began to last longer, and she would sit on the flagstones of the corridor to talk to him. Benjamin felt as though the long hours he spent alone made words build up inside him like water behind a dam, and they rushed out in Rose’s presence; he told her stories of his childhood, of Ayasha and his family, of his life before he had been swept up in Tancred’s war. So much had been destroyed, and all over which cousin should sit the throne of Sicily. As far as Benjamin was concerned, the difference between the two was negligible. He and Rose spoke of the meaning of war, and of things they’d seen and things they’d only heard of, myths and histories and children’s rhymes.
Rose was no simple maid. Though she listened more than she spoke, from what she did say and from her questions, he gathered that she had never traveled far, but she had read her Bible and saints’ lives, and even the stories of the Greeks and Romans. He’d tried to impress her once with a tale from Homer, only to find she knew it better than he did. But she hungered to know more of the world, and he tried to describe it for her.
“My home is Salerno. It’s a port city, and people from every land live there: Arabs and Jews, Greeks and Africans, and of course now you Normans as well. The weather is dry and hot, but the wind blows strongly from the mountains to the gulf, and a river runs through the city with fresh, cool water.” He closed his eyes to better picture what he couldn’t put into words: how the white and tawny stone of the buildings reflected the sun’s glare, how the arches and narrow pillars and courtyards made hidden spots of shade on the hottest summer day, how grapevines smelled when he passed beneath a trellis. Salerno was a bubbling mix of people, scholars and merchants and soldiers, confusing and chaotic and deeply beloved. It was his home, and his heart ached for it, for the sound of its many languages and the comforts of his own small house, for his sisters and mother and wife.
Rose was interested in more useful information, though. “Is it true they have a great school there?”
“The Schola Medica Salernitana? Of course. I trained there myself.”
Benjamin was proud of his schooling, but Rose didn’t seem impressed, absorbed in some thought of her own. This day she sat with her side against the door of the dungeon, with Benjamin close on the other side. She’d ceased to be so aware of the distance between them, and he was glad of it. He would have liked to touch her, though only as friend, only to share in another person’s presence, but he refrained, afraid to lose what trust he’d earned.
“I have heard,” Rose began uncertainly, and then revised her words. “People say they train women there.”
“Yes, there are many women students. Some of them even stay when they have finished, and become teachers themselves.”
Rose turned her face from him, and her voice was hard. “Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not,” he said, startled by her sudden anger.
“I have been told that women should learn to read only so that they may know their Scriptures. Aristotle said, the male is by nature superior, and the female inferior; the one rules, and the other is ruled. This principle, of necessity, extends to all mankind.”
“He did,” Benjamin said softly. “Nonetheless, women teach at Salerno.”
The lantern on the floor made a popping sound, and she opened one panel to trim the wick. When she had finished, and closed its case of horn again, she asked, “Are they hated, these women?”
He would have liked to speak comfortingly to her, but he had already seen her anger when she’d thought he lied. “By some,” he admitted. “But not by all. Many respect them for their knowledge. Some of the women have gathered great wealth from the patients who come to them. It is a hard choice, I’ve no doubt, but it is their choice. And the ones I’ve known have seemed happy.”
She took a breath as though she would speak, but only sat silently for a time, her eyes on the lantern and her hands fisted on her knees, the knuckles knotted like tree roots. When she finally did speak, it was to ask him of other cities he had seen. He told her of Naples and Rome, Florence and Palermo. None of them sparked the same barely-contained desire in her eyes as when he spoke of Salerno and its school. On subsequent days, she asked him questions that came close to the topic, but she never spoke of it directly, as though it were a fire she might burn herself on. He was kind to her; he enjoyed their conversations, and besides, he knew how it was to want something so badly that it erased all other considerations.
“Why did you become a nun?” he asked her once, trying to delay her departure.
“For the glory of God,” she replied, but the words were rote, and she didn’t look away from repacking the basket she always carried.
“And if you had could make that choice again?” he pressed, even as she stood and began to move off.
She stopped. “No one can remake a choice. Perhaps sometimes there comes a chance to make a new choice, but only if you are willing to give up what you already have.” Her back was very straight as she walked away.
***
Benjamin dreamed he was home, sitting in his own kitchen besides Ayasha. He knew it was a dream; the colors were too bright, objects too sharp-edged. The ridges of the wooden table he sat at were like deep canyons, and the sky out of the window was a startling sapphire blue. He’d grown used to the pale winter sky here in the north, the color of a tunic washed too frequently. There was a plate of food before Ayasha, baby octopus and olives and lemons, and flatbread dusted with white flour. She smiled and pushed the plate toward him. “Aren’t you hungry? What do those Normans feed you– onions and cabbage?”
Benjamin would have been grateful for an onion, or anything other than bread and cheese, but he didn’t bother to correct her. It was only a dream. Her hair was down, like an ocean of black curls, still wet from her morning bath. She wore only her chemise, and her hair had soaked the cloth on her shoulders and back so he that could almost see her skin through the linen. He wondered if he touched her hair, if he would feel its coarse texture and the cool beads of water, or if that would end the dream. “This isn’t real.”
She shook her head, certain that she knew better than him. It was such a familiar gesture that his heart thumped painfully. “Eat, malik.”
The octopus was red as wine, and he could see black spots where the tentacles had crisped against the pan. The olives were green and slick with their own oil, the lemon’s yellow flesh bright against its white pith. Ayasha laughed at his hesitation, and tossed an olive into her mouth, then spit the seed into her palm. “See? No magic here. You’re too fond of those old stories.”
He let her give him an olive, but only marveled at its smell, the feel of its flesh in his hand. “I will come back here. I promise you. No matter what it takes–”
Ayasha laughed again, interrupting him. “I know you will.” Her large eyes were heavy-lidded, as though she were fresh come from their bed. He remembered her in bed, her curved body warm and soft against his own. “Just don’t take long, eh, malik?”
He reached out to touch her cheek, and woke just before his fingers brushed her skin.
***
It was difficult to keep track of the hours in this dungeon, but he thought it was still night when light appeared unexpectedly down the hall. Rose had brought him food and water not long before, certainly not a whole day previously. She had been behaving strangely, though, even quieter than usual and with a nervous air such as she had not had since the day they met. It had put him in mind of a bird, easily startled into flight no matter how he tried to coax it closer.
The bars of the dungeon were too narrow to admit his head, and so he was forced to wait until the light, and its bearer, reached him. Benjamin wasn’t sure what to expect, but it proved to be a young man, dressed in heavy traveling clothes with a loaded pack strapped to his back. He met Benjamin’s eyes with a mixture of defiance and worry, as though he expected Benjamin to protest his presence.
Benjamin recognized him with a start. It wasn’t a young man at all, but Rose, dressed in a man’s clothes and with her head uncovered. A nun, she had shorn her hair short, making her look like a patient only recently recovered from fever. Even through his shock, he felt a frisson of awareness at the sight of her hair, a darker brown than her skin, though not nearly so dark as Ayasha’s. He wondered if it were longer, if it would curl.
“They’re sending you away tomorrow,” she said. She’d deepened her voice, not enough to be obviously false, but enough to give her costume a sense of realism. “Not only you, but all the prisoners. The Duke is currying favor with Emperor Henry.”
Benjamin took hold of the bars. “Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about our ransoms? I thought word would be sent to our homes–”
“I don’t know,” Rose said again, cutting him off. “It no longer matters.”
“I think it does,” he began, but Rose ignored him. She looked back down the corridor from where she’d come, took a deep breath, and knelt before the dungeon’s door. He thought she was praying, and instinctively broke off his angry words out of respect. But in the quiet that followed, he heard not murmured Scripture or the clink of rosary beads, but a metallic scraping sound. He craned his head, trying to see behind the wooden parts of the door. “What are you doing?”
She hushed him. “I haven’t had much practice at this. I need to concentrate.”
The scratch of metal on metal continued, followed by a small clunk, like dice falling, and the door swung open. Rose had what appeared to be a fish-hook and a pin in her hands, though she quickly tucked them back into her pack. She seemed slightly smug.
“Did you pick the lock?” Benjamin asked. “I’m beginning to think you’re not really a nun.”
She didn’t laugh with him. “I am. I took the vows.”
He had no response to that. Rose handed him a heavy cloak and boots, and waited while he put them on. The boots were small, but close enough to the right size that he was surprised, and the cloak was very welcome in these chilly halls, even if it still held someone else’s scent. He wondered who Rose had taken it from, and if they would be cold tomorrow.
When he had dressed, she led him down the corridors, gesturing for silence whenever he would have spoken. Twice they waited where two corridors crossed, backs against the wall and breath held, while servants in bright livery passed by. He could tell that Rose was leading him out of the dungeons and into the more heavily used parts of the castle; he could hear voices, the lamps on the walls were kept burning, and the rushes on the floor had been replaced recently. They passed a tapestry which he would have liked to look at more carefully, warm and colorful against the bare stone walls.
At last they came to a heavy wooden door, reinforced with black iron. Rose opened it, and cold air blew in, smelling of pine trees and snow. No light came with it, though, and when Benjamin ducked through and looked up, he saw stars, sparkling like pure white gems against the night sky. He could have whooped with delight, if he hadn’t heard German from somewhere nearby. He was still far from home, and Ayasha would never forgive him if he wasted this chance. Instead he stood still, indulging in the sense of freedom that filled him with a wild, sweet joy. Even the cold that frosted his breath and made him pull the cloak closer around himself was welcome.
Eventually he turned to thank Rose and say farewell, and found her watching him, her eyes echoing some of what he felt. He smiled and took her hand, but her mouth firmed and her slender shoulders stiffened. She’d closed the door behind her and snuffed out the rushlight she carried. He considered again the men’s clothes she wore, the pack she hadn’t handed to him to carry.
Benjamin opened his mouth to say Do you know what you’re doing?, and closed it again without speaking, aware that she’d never forgive such a question. And suddenly, it seemed, there was a future in which it mattered what Rose thought of him.
“You needn’t break your vows for me,” he said instead. “I’m not that handsome.”
Rose still didn’t return his smile, but some of the tenseness went out of her. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing this for myself. God will...” she hesitated, searching for the right word. If it had been Benjamin, he might have chosen God will permit or God will forgive, but Rose settled on “...understand.”
He nodded. It was the least she might ask of God, but perhaps it would be enough for her. “You intend to come with me to Salerno?”
She turned surprised eyes to him. “Was I that obvious? Yes.” A quiet intensity filled her voice. “I want to learn. I have always wanted it, but I thought... I thought the world was smaller than it has proved to be. I have to do this.”
He let her words ring in the silence of the winter night, and wondered what Ayasha would think of this gawky, scholarly woman he had begun to admire. “I hope Salerno proves worthy of you,” he said, and together they left the shadow of the castle wall.
***
Benjamin was weaker than he’d realized. Long weeks of forced inactivity in the dungeon had sapped his strength, and a diet of little more than bread and water had left him lightheaded and shaky when he tried to go any faster than a walk. He could tell that Rose was worried, but she said nothing, and tried to support his weight when he stumbled.
They heard pursuit before they’d gone more than a few leagues. Rose cursed– surprisingly fluently for a nun– and he knew she had expected to cover a greater distance. They were surrounded by flat fields, blanketed with thick snow that would make their footprints unmistakable if they left the road. With no other choice, they forged on, Benjamin forcing his legs to move despite feeling like his heart would pound its way out of his chest. It was hard to tell how far behind the pursuit was; the crisp, cold air carried sound too well. Benjamin was just considering how to persuade Rose to continue on without him when they reached the top of a rise and saw a hall not too far away. It was small, and built only of timber rather than stone, but it had separate entrances for the living quarters and the stables, and the yard was a morass of mud and frozen puddles, sure to hold no track. It might be enough to save them.
They hurried toward the stable door without needing to discuss it. Benjamin ran his hands over the door, looking for the latch, but it pushed opened slightly under his touch; it had only been pulled against the frame, and not locked. Inside were several cows and a horse, a swaybacked, elderly creature, clearly more suited to the plow than for riding. One cow raised her head and snorted at the intrusion of strangers, but though she watched them cautiously, she did nothing more.
Above the animals was a shallow loft, evidently used for storing hay. A crude ladder stood nearby, and Benjamin and Rose scrambled up it, huddling behind the hay bales furthest from the door. The air was warm, scented with the clean bodies of the animals and the summer-grass note of the hay. It would have been a pleasant place to sleep, if they hadn’t been followed.
It wasn’t long before their pursuers arrived, announcing their presence with a tumult of hoofbeats and angry voices. The walls could do with a new coat of plaster, and Benjamin could see torches flickering through the cracks. He tried futilely to press himself further back against the wall, and felt Rose doing the same. There was the clink of mail as someone dismounted outside; no hope of fighting, then.
The door was shoved open roughly, and the cows stirred, upset at this new disturbance. The horse whinnied, alarming them further.
“Come out,” a voice shouted in German. It was a small stable, the ladder in plain sight; Benjamin wondered how many moments it would be before he and Rose were found, and if it wouldn’t be better not to force the knights to search.
“I’m right here, though I can’t imagine what you want with me. If your lady is so desperate for music, why of course I will oblige her, but I do think she might have waited until morning. I would have liked to wash my face before seeing her, and perhaps changed my shirt. Does she like blue?” It was not one of Leopold’s knights, though the German was smooth and sweet as any noble’s. There was someone else in the stable.
“Not you.” The knight paced, the shadows leaping crazily as he swung the torch. “I know they came this way. Is there anyone else in here?”
“It’s only me and the cows.”
“Don’t dare lie on this matter, singer. I’m searching for a Saracen knight, black as the devil himself, and if he doesn’t kill you, God will strike you down for protecting a heathen. The Saracen abducted a nun before he ran.”
“Why would I lie? I’ve been sleeping here since sunset, and I’m fairly certain I would have noticed a knight and a shrieking nun. They don’t sound like a particularly stealthy pair.”
The knight disparaged the man’s parentage and called down plagues on all Saracens, but stomped back outside and ordered his followers onward. The cheerful voice called out good wishes, which were ignored, and the knights departed in a whirlwind of noise. The cows and horse continued to move about restlessly, but otherwise all was still. If the farmer and his family in the hall had woken– and how could they not have?– they’d judged it best to avoid the Duke’s men.
The stable door creaked as it was closed. “They’re gone now. You can come down, if you like.”
Benjamin exchanged a glance with Rose. She shrugged, leaving the choice to him. He wasn’t inclined to trust some stranger chance-met, but there seemed little point in continuing to hide. He crawled to the edge of the loft and looked down.
The man’s voice might have been a lord’s, but his clothes were wool and well-worn. Hay stuck to his tunic and in his hair, and he seemed to have been sleeping in a pile of it that Benjamin had dismissed as fodder. That was a mistake which might have cost him dearly, though perhaps this once it had been good luck.
“Well, you don’t look like any nun I’ve ever seen,” said the man, “so I suppose you must be the Saracen.”
“I’m a Christian,” Benjamin said defensively.
“Excellent. I suppose God will refrain from striking me down, then. Unless you did defile the nun. I quite like nuns.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” Benjamin protested again, drawn into the ridiculous argument despite himself. “I’m a married man, and I have never broken my vows to my wife.”
The man spread his hands in a gesture of benediction. “She hath received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins. Do come down. I feel as though I’m speaking to a cloud. Or perhaps a star, given the hour.”
Benjamin could think of no reason not to. The man seemed harmless enough, and had sent away the knights. When he and Rose had descended the ladder and stood on the earth once more, the stranger took in Rose’s slim form and short hair, and swept her a bow far too elaborate for a stable, or her male dress. “And you must be the still-chaste nun. Which saint have you graced by taking her name? Catherine, perhaps?”
Rose was not amused by the flattery, and she made no move to offer him her hand. Benjamin noticed a hard knot bunch at the corner of her jaw, a sign of fear, and it occurred to him how vulnerable she was, alone with two men far from her abbey. She might have claimed protection from Leopold’s knights, but she had chosen not to; anything that happened now or in the future would be seen as her own fault.
The stranger must have come to the same realization, for he clasped his hands behind himself and took a step away. “How rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself first. I’m called Hannibal.”
Benjamin’s eyebrows raised. “Have you stabled your elephants on the other side of the hall, General?”
Hannibal shrugged. “Well, the roof in here was so low.”
“Thank you,” Rose said, her manner formal but less hard. “You had no reason to offer your assistance, and we are grateful. My name is Rose, and this is Benjamin Ianuarius.”
“I’ve never been fond of Leopold. The man has a nasty temper.” Hannibal grinned. “I only thought to trick them out of a good night’s sleep, but I am more than happy to have been of service to two desperate, ah, pilgrims.”
Rose smiled. “Pilgrims,” she agreed. “Of a sort.”
***
Benjamin slept little that night, certain that Leopold’s knights would realize Hannibal had been lying and come back. But despite his racing mind and the multiple times he sat bolt upright, startled awake at some perfectly normal night noise, when dawn arrived he and Rose were still free.
He woke her early, wanting to leave before they had to explain to the farmer how his stable had acquired two extra guests during the night. She roused easily, and he realized that she would be used to waking at this time for the service at Prime; he wondered if she would miss that firm routine of prayer and work, wondered if her friends knew she was missing yet. There would be an empty space this morning in the rows of kneeling nuns, a missing voice in the chants.
Outside the air was freezing, not yet warmed by the sun’s rays, though it was light enough to see. Hannibal had woken with them, gathered his belongings and wrapped himself against the chill, but it wasn’t until he was standing with them on the road that ran south that Benjamin realized he intended to join them. Hannibal was a small man, thin and weak-looking, but Benjamin had won his freedom too recently to trust easily.
Rose, however, seemed to disagree. “Another person would be useful on the road, particularly for a journey as long as ours,” she said. “If you go our way, we should travel together.”
“Do you intend to go far, then?”
Benjamin nodded. “Very far. Past the borders of this Holy Roman Empire.” That wasn’t strictly true; the Normans had ruled Salerno for a generation now, but it was hard to think of his home as the same kingdom as this bare and frosty land. “But Rose is right. You’re welcome to travel with us, if you like, for as far as you’re going.”
“I’m not going anywhere. And south seems as good as any other direction, particularly in winter.”
Rose looked at him oddly. “You must be heading somewhere. Where is your home?”
“I’m not from there, I’m not from here,” Hannibal sang, surprisingly tuneful. “And I can’t do a thing / I was left by the fairies one morn / On some high hill.”
“You’re a troubadour,” Benjamin said, surprised.
“No. Troubadours play to lords for gold; I play to farmers, for bread or the right to sleep in their hayloft for a night. Also, troubadours have generally seen the ladies they sing about.” He looked up at Benjamin, a smile curving one side of his mouth. “Or more than seen.”
“How do you travel safely, on your own?” Rose asked.
Hannibal shrugged. “Quite frequently I don’t. But I’ve little enough to steal, and so far I’ve always kept my life.”
Rose frowned, and crossed her arms. “Well, three is better than one, at least.”
On that hopeful note, they set out. The day brightened, but never grew much warmer. What people they passed were mostly peasants, visiting their neighbors or returning from the forest with baskets of firewood or trapped game. Hannibal proved to be a talkative companion, singing to himself when he had nothing else to say. His manners were courtly, if his current situation was not, and it soon transpired that his Latin, Occitan, and even Arabic were as polished as his German had been. He spoke like a man who had read much, without the elisions and imprecise grammar of most people. Benjamin began to suspect that his claim to not know lords and ladies was a lie.
But he was useful. He knew the land better than either Benjamin, a foreigner, or Rose, who must not have often left her abbey. She gazed about her with a curiosity and pleasure that overwhelmed her usual reserve, and which called an answering lightness from Benjamin’s soul. It was good to be once more in the sun, to hear birds singing, to stretch his legs. He had only seen these roads once before, and that with an injury to the head and his hands lashed to the saddle horn. What little he had been aware enough to see on that ride he only half-remembered: flashes of dark green pine trees or high, steep-sided hills. Anything more useful, such as routes or stopping points, they both relied on Hannibal to know.
When it began to grow dark, Rose said she thought it was best to avoid people until they were further from Trifels Castle, and Benjamin couldn’t dispute the wisdom of that, though they’d seen no knights all day. They made a fire under the trees, far enough from the road that its light wouldn’t be seen. She had also packed blankets and food, and he praised her foresight. The food wouldn’t carry them all the way to Salerno, of course, but it would grant them several days’ travel before they would have to barter for their meals. Hannibal had a few dried apples and eggs, carefully wrapped against breaking, which he shared with them.
The firelight emphasized the narrowness of Hannibal’s face, the hollows beneath his cheekbones. He was generous and clever and witty, and Benjamin would have liked to count him as a friend. But though Rose had her own reasons for freeing and accompanying him, Hannibal’s motivations were less clear. And Benjamin was wary, although he knew the Bible said, Love ye therefore the stranger, for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt.
That was the difficulty. He had been held captive and mistreated, all for the sake of a crown that had nothing to do with him or his family. He was angry at what had been done to him, and afraid lest it should be done again. Benjamin could not extend an open hand as easily as he once had, and though he regretted it, he could not put his mistrust entirely aside. Perhaps he could only wait, and see if his heart healed, and grew less hard.
“Who should take the first watch?” he said, and let their talk move from there.
***
Their days settled into a pattern. Nights came early, in this season and this land, and often they covered no more than a few leagues before they had to halt and work for that day’s lodging and food. Hannibal said no word of tiring of their company, and Benjamin had to admit that was for the best. It was Hannibal’s skills that proved most serviceable. Rose could read at least three languages, and was well acquainted with the knowledge of the ancients, but she spoke little around strangers, preferring not to betray her male clothes with a too-high voice. Benjamin had served as a soldier and trained in medicine, but the first was in little demand at the farms and monasteries where they spent most nights. A doctor of Salerno could have set any price, but they were rare this far from Sicily, and word of one’s presence would be sure to quickly spread. He wasn’t sure how long Duke Leopold would have spent searching for one lost captive– and one whose ransom would have been little enough– but he didn’t want to take the risk.
As he began to recover his strength from the dungeon, at least he could offer his labor. Often enough people were grateful for an extra hand to haul water, chop wood, or re-thatch a roof. And so they made their way south, three unremarkable travelers on the road among the other pilgrims, merchants, and landless men.
They had reached Lombardy, and were passing the night in a Benedictine monastery. Benjamin and Rose bedded down early, blankets spread close to the kitchen hearth, but Hannibal sat up, arms wrapped around his knees and humming softly. Benjamin recognized the melody. Nearly asleep, he found himself reciting the words in his mind:
Hail holy queen, mother of mercy,
Our life, our sweetness, and our hope.
To thee we, poor banished children of Eve, lift our crying.
To thee we are sighing,
Mourning and weeping in this land of exile.
Turn thou, O our intercessor,
Thine eyes of mercy towards us,
Lead us home at last.
It wasn’t the sort of song Hannibal usually sang; he tended to favor love songs, or the lighter sort of satire. Benjamin had always loved music, and if he had not become a doctor, he might have been a musician. He and Hannibal often talked of music, while they walked or did some farmer’s chores; Hannibal knew not just many songs, but much of the theory and history of music as well. Benjamin liked to listen to him sing or play his instrument; his skill was extraordinary, and Benjamin frequently found himself moved by the music Hannibal could create, the way he could pull achingly pure notes from the air and spin them into something grand. Most of all, he liked to sing with Hannibal, to be part of such gold and brilliant music himself.
And now as he drowsed, the voice he heard in his mind was Hannibal’s light tenor. He had heard Hannibal singing this song that afternoon, while he and Rose turned over the soil in the monastery's herb garden in preparation for the spring planting. The garden had been near the church, and through its windows they’d been able to hear Hannibal teaching his surprisingly large repertoire of plainchant. He would lead a song, and then the monks’ massed voices would echo him. The music was solemn and slow, the many voices blending into a single perfect unison. Without the sight of the mortal men it came from, Benjamin could easily have believed it to be the music of angels. He had given himself over to it, finding a place of wordless prayer in the music, and he had felt close to Ayasha and his family and his home church in Salerno.
He knew he lay only in a dim foreign kitchen, empty except for Rose’s shape beneath her blankets and Hannibal’s silhouette against the fire. But there was comfort enough in that, and the sound of Hannibal’s quiet humming led him into sleep.
***
They were heading down through the Col de Montgenèvre, nearly out of the Alps, when a late blizzard blew down fast and fierce. The sky had been gray all day, the sun never quite having risen, but there’d been no wind and Benjamin had thought it was safe enough to hurry over the last leagues lying between them and level ground. Truthfully, perhaps he had been too happy at the thought of coming closer to Salerno and Ayasha to give the weather its due consideration. He was paying for it now; the sky had gone black and the snow blew horizontal, stinging his cheeks and crusting at the corner of his eyes. He had wrapped his blanket over his cloak, but the wind was strong enough to drive ice through both layers. Where his skin was exposed, it burned with cold. And the storm had only just begun; it would be death to remain in it for much longer.
Rose and Hannibal were also using their blankets as protection, and the three of them trudged silently along, not wanting to uncover their faces to speak. Snow had already begun to accumulate on the path, making it easy to slip or accidentally wander off it, especially with the light getting worse. Benjamin wondered what they would look like to someone looking down on them, perhaps God or one of the saints: three shapeless brown lumps, like some mix of turtle and mouse, trudging across a field of white. The thought of them being watched over brought him comfort, and he was beginning to believe they would be all right, when he glanced back to see Hannibal swaying aimlessly across the road only to stop still before falling.
By the time Benjamin had rushed back to him, Hannibal had sat up, but he made no move to rise, and shook his head when Benjamin offered him a hand. Hannibal had never done well in the coldest weather, and this day he had been falling further and further behind Benjamin and Rose, stopping often to rest but only moving slower when they resumed. Snow had caught in his hair like streaks of grey, but he wasn’t shivering. His breathing was slow and shallow, and when Benjamin took his wrist to feel his pulse, it was weak. Benjamin had never before had cause to treat a patient suffering from too much cold, but he had heard of this, and it wasn’t good. They had come so far, and it was almost spring; to have this happen now, when they deserved an easy end to their journey, wasn’t fair. But this storm had all the rage of winter’s last gasp, the season determined not to end without taking its toll.
Hannibal pulled back his hand and concealed it beneath his blanket, pulling the edges tighter around his shoulders as he did. “I’ll be fine in a little while. You and Rose needn’t wait for me; go on ahead, and I’ll catch up once I’ve gotten warm again.”
“You’re not going to get warm by sitting here,” Rose said, having turned back herself to come and stand above them.
“It’s not much further,” Benjamin said gently. “I saw a town wall from the last rise, not far back. A few more leagues.”
“Only a few more leagues.” Hannibal’s smile was like the grimace of a skull, his skin even whiter than usual and no light in his eyes. “I’m glad. I’ll catch up to you there, then. Don’t worry, I’ll have no trouble finding you in a town. The nun and the Saracen.” He chuckled, and then a great shiver racked his body.
Benjamin exchanged a look with Rose; from the set expression of her lips and the narrowness of her eyes, she shared his thought. He reached down and dragged Hannibal to his feet; the musician struggled a little, but didn’t seem to have full control of his limbs and was too weak to shake off Benjamin’s grip. “No one will miss me. You have a home. Rose– you will have a home, too, even if you don’t now. You mustn’t lose that just because a useless fool took to following after you–”
“Shut up,” Benjamin said, looping Hannibal’s arm around his neck and keeping a firm hold on his wrist in case he continued to protest. Rose wedged her shoulder under his other arm, and between them they supported Hannibal down the road. It was an awkward way to walk, particularly in the face of the wind and snow, but Benjamin could think of few other options. At first Hannibal tried to help, but by the time they reached the town gate an hour later, he hung limp, all but unconscious, his chin bouncing against his chest and his feet barely lifting for each step.
Benjamin spent most of their little stock of coin on a room in an inn, hot water, and broth, and by that evening there was color again in Hannibal’s face, and the terrible blue tint to his fingernails and lips was gone. He was slightly feverish, but not enough to worry about. He sat swaddled in blankets on the inn’s bed– a goose down mattress, an unnecessary extravagance, but there’d been nothing else available– talking of Virgil and Saint Augustine with Rose and warming his hands on a cup of mulled wine.
“Hic tantum Boreae curamus frigora, / Quantum aut numerum lupus aut torrentia flumina ripas,” he said, voice somewhat hoarse but clear. Out in the storm, his words had been slurred and mumbled in a way Benjamin had never heard from him before, even when he’d had enough wine to make him clumsy. “At least not as long as you’re about. I suppose if you get tired of dragging my hide through blizzards, I might have to fear the winter once more.”
Rose took the wine from Hannibal to drink some herself. “I don’t think you need worry about that. Besides, Benjamin says it never snows in Sicily. I’m not sure I believe him, but I do believe I could be content to never see snow again.”
Benjamin touched Hannibal’s shoulder, pressing hard to be sure he felt it through the layers of blanket. “Virgil also said Cantantes licet usque- minus via laedit- eamus, you know. And since you haven’t taught me all of your songs yet, and Rose has a terrible voice–” she laughed and kicked his ankle, “–we need you for the singing.”
Hannibal smiled down at his hands, his long fingers interwoven. “I could not have asked you to risk yourselves for me, but I am relived that you did. I am in your debt, and grateful to be so.”
Hannibal fell asleep not long after that, exhausted by his ordeal and overwhelmed by the rare comforts of the inn. Benjamin lay next to him on the featherbed; Hannibal was sleeping too soundly to appreciate it, and someone should do so. Besides, Hannibal’s breath still rasped slightly, and by sharing the bed, Benjamin could monitor it and the progress of his fever. He was looking forward to sleeping through the night, courtesy of a door that locked and thus no need to keep watch.
Rose moved from her seat at the foot of the bed to pause awkwardly in the center of the room.
“There’s room for you as well,” Benjamin said.
“I know.” She snuffed out the candles, leaving only a single rushlight to cast a faint glow, just enough to discern her outline. Outside the inn, the storm continued, the wind howling around the eaves and rattling the shutters in their frames.
He wondered again what had led her to become a nun, and what she thought of the vows she’d left behind. He tried to imagine not seeing her every day, not seeing her cool profile or brief smiles, the soft halo of fuzz over her scalp as her hair grew longer. He could never have come so far without her, he knew. “Hannibal was right. You do have a home, if you want it. You will always have a home with me.”
Rose was silent. She pulled off her tunic, her shirt and the darkness obscuring the shape of her limbs, and folded it on the stool. She felt at the edge of the bed, and Benjamin held back the covers for her as she lay beside him. He recognized her act for the sign of trust that it was, and something loosened in his chest. Hannibal stirred slightly on his other side, but didn’t wake, curling against him in an unconscious search for warmth. When Benjamin dreamed, it was of Ayasha flirting with Hannibal and holding hands with Rose.
***
The Apennines were nothing like the Alps had been. These mountains were green, and now, in early April, abundantly so, at least where they were not dotted with the purple and white of wildflowers, or yellow fields of young wheat. It was a landscape very similar to Benjamin’s home, and sometimes he even thought he caught a glimpse of the sea, far to the west.
The familiarity gave him heart he hadn’t had before, and sometimes he found himself walking so fast that he had to stop and wait for Hannibal and Rose to catch up. They didn’t mind, though; as Rose came even with him, she glanced up with one of her quicksilver smiles, there and gone, though its warmth remained in her face. Hannibal grinned more widely, and companionably bumped against Benjamin as he passed. He turned, walking backwards, and began to sing:
“During May, when the days are long,
I rejoice in the songs of birds from far away
For now that I have traveled far
I remember a love far away.”
Benjamin knew the song, and though he did feel a twinge of yearning at the words, it wasn’t as bad as it would have been mere weeks before. Now he could laugh in acknowledgement of the teasing, his sense of homecoming stronger than his heartache. He joined in on the next verse, his deep voice providing an anchor for Hannibal’s lighter one.
“Ah! I wish I could go as a pilgrim,
So that my staff and hooded cloak
Would be beheld by her beautiful eyes!
But I do not know when we’ll meet,
So far away our countries are,
So many are the crossings and the roads.
Surely joy will come to me, come from afar,
When for the love of God I go there,
And if it pleases her, I shall live
Near her, although I come from far away.”
Rose turned to watch them over her shoulder, and though she didn’t join in, Benjamin suspected she knew the song just as well. The sun began to fall toward the horizon, though night was still some ways off. Light washed across the mountains and the lower, rolling hills, in tones of gold and umber; short trees cast long, hazy shadows. The world took on the look of Paradise, and Benjamin linked his arm with Hannibal as they walked, heading toward his home.
***
“Wake up.” Hannibal’s voice was a mere breath in his ear, his hand held up to forestall any sound Benjamin might have made. Hannibal had been keeping watch, Benjamin remembered, and surfaced from sleep with cold fear climbing his spine.
“There’s a band of knights passing on the road below, five or six of them. They saw our fire; I think they’re coming here.” It didn’t matter whose army they were part of: a small band of knights in the night, far from any town, were little different from bandits. Benjamin rolled to his side and saw that Rose was already awake, sitting up in her blankets. Her eyes were wide, glittering with reflected light from the banked fire. The three of them grabbed what they could, abandoning anything that would take too long to pack or carry. Benjamin scuffed dirt over the fire to smother it; likely the knights would still find their campsite, but that was no reason to give them a beacon toward it.
They hurried into the trees, Benjamin making frantic calculations of speed versus silence, of distance versus time. They’d gone neither as far nor as fast as he would have liked when he spotted a dense cluster of blackberry bushes. He pointed at it, and Rose and Hannibal followed, none of them speaking. The bushes had gone wild, and were a nearly impenetrable tangle of vines and canes, but that would hopefully keep them better hidden. Rose made a sudden hushed sound; a thorn had caught her on the cheek, drawing a thin line of blood that looked black in the moonlight. Benjamin found her hand and squeezed it in reassurance, and then the three of them were as far into the bushes as possible. They crouched down to be harder to see, and Benjamin prayed that he’d made the right choice.
They heard the knights arrive at the campsite, and their anger when they found nothing worth stealing. Their manner of speaking marked them as Romans, and thus perhaps followers of the Pope, though that made them no likelier to be merciful. Benjamin had hoped they would lose interest quickly and return to the road, but a flickering between the trees made it clear they were searching the woods. One knight came so near the blackberry bush that Benjamin could see the dirty white tunic he wore, marked with a Saint George’s cross– a Crusader, then. The man’s hair was dirty as well, and clung greasily to his shoulders. But what mattered was the heavy sword at his side, the beefy, calloused hand he rested on its hilt. Benjamin had no doubt that this was a man who knew how to kill. He and Rose had only small daggers; Hannibal was entirely unarmed.
He could hear Hannibal trying to breath quietly, fighting against terror as he shifted closer to Benjamin. His shoulder, thin and fragile, knocked against Benjamin’s. On his other side, Rose was silent and motionless, hard as a stone and letting slip no shiver of fear. Perhaps they should have hid separately; then, at least if one was found, the other two might still have escaped. But Benjamin knew he couldn’t have done it. Even if it was hopeless, even if he had no chance, he could not have watched from safety while these knights took or killed one of his friends. Please, he prayed, please keep them safe. Please let me see Ayasha again.
The knight swung his torch about one more time, and then turned and headed away from them.
In the morning, they found most of their food missing, as well as the nicest of the blankets. Their other goods had been kicked and dirtied, and one of their bags had been torn into uselessness. Still, Benjamin promised to sponsor a mass for the Virgin as soon as he was in Salerno.
***
It was late morning, not yet noon, when Benjamin finally caught sight of his home again. Ayasha sat on the edge of the plaza in front of their house, the spot she had always told him had the best light, her sewing on her lap. He started running and didn’t stop until her arms were around his neck and her mouth on his; she pulled back just long enough to laugh in triumph, and then she was kissing him again. She smelled like frankincense and sandalwood, and she was warm and alive under his hands. Even when the first rush of homecoming was over and he’d come back to himself, he still could only stare at her: her large dark eyes, the black curls escaping from her braids, her beloved face, lean and hooked-nosed and indescribably beautiful.
She recovered more quickly, and peered past him in open curiosity. He turned, only then remembering Hannibal and Rose, who stood waiting across the plaza. He saw them with new eyes, the way Ayasha must be seeing them. Rose was thin and hard from the journey, the long bones of her face prominent, the muscles of her arms and legs strong. Her hair had grown out somewhat, just enough to begin to curl, but it was still oddly short. Despite what she wore, he didn’t know how anyone could look at her and see a man. She might not have Ayasha’s lush beauty, like a rose’s, but she had the cool, sedate bearing of a lily. Hannibal’s skin was even paler than the Normans’ and oddly translucent, and it marked him as utterly foreign. His clothes were too large for his slender frame, and his wrist-bones and ankles stood out. Silent, without evidence of the exquisite music he made or his obliging good nature or the bright, openhearted joy he was capable of, he looked small and out of place. He’d put a hand on Rose’s shoulder, both of them dirty and weary, their clothes ragged. Benjamin turned back to Ayasha, searching for how to begin to explain, for the words that could encompass everything that had happened. But she smiled and stepped out of his arms, extending her hands to the two who stood awkwardly on the threshold.
“Welcome home,” she said.
***
Notes: This story is set sometime in the late 1100s, though I tried to be as vague as possible to keep myself from having to do more research. Judging by the length of these notes, I did not succeed.
Real places appearing in this story:
Salerno
Trifels Castle
Schola Medica Salernitana
The Kingdom of Sicily
Col de Montgenèvre
Apennine Mountains
And here's a nice map of the whole area they crossed, with the starting point being between Worms and Toul.
Real people appearing in this story:
Duke Leopold
Tancred
Emperor Henry
Ianuarius is Latin for January.
The male is by nature superior, and the female inferior; the one rules, and the other is ruled. This principle, of necessity, extends to all mankind.
-Aristotle, Politics, Book I Chapter V. That said, the Holy Roman Empire wasn't as terrible a place for women's education as I make it seem. Rose's abbey is partly based on Gandersheim Abbey, where a canoness named Roswitha (about 935-1002) wrote plays, poetry, legends, and comedies in Latin, and may have been the first person in the West since Antiquity to write drama.
She hath received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.
-Isaiah 40:2
Saint Catherine was said to have been exceptionally beautiful.
I’m not from there, I’m not from here,
And I can't do a thing
I was left by fairies one morn,
On some high hill.
-part of the song "Farai un vers de drevt nien (I've made a song devoid of sense)" written by the troubadour Guillaume de Poitiers (1071-1127)
As far as I can tell, the term "Holy Roman Empire" didn't come into use until the next century, but as it's the common modern name, I'm going with it.
Occitan is a language spoken in southern France and northern Spain, and was the most common language of troubadour poetry. Would Hannibal had known Arabic? Many of the troubadours were Crusaders themselves or closely associated with the Crusades, and some of the style of the poetry (and many of the instruments used) came from Islamic Spain. So basically, I think it's not impossible.
Love ye therefore the stranger, for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt
-Deuteronomy 10:19
Hail holy queen, mother of mercy,
Our life, our sweetness, and our hope.
To thee we, poor banished children of Eve, lift our crying.
To thee we are sighing,
Mourning and weeping in this land of exile.
Turn thou, O our intercessor,
Thine eyes of mercy towards us,
Lead us home at last.
-"Salve Regina", a Latin plainchant (aka Gregorian chant) to the Virgin Mary that probably dates to the late 900s
Hic tantum Boreae curamus frigora,
Quantum aut numerum lupus aut torrentia flumina ripas
We fear not more the winds and wintry cold,
Than streams the banks, or wolves the bleating fold.
-Virgil, Eclogues, Book VII, lines 51–52
Cantantes licit usque– minus via laedit– eamus
Let us go singing as far as we go, the road will be less tedious.
-Virgil, Eclogues, Book IX, line 64
During May, when the days are long...
-a much-shortened version of the song "Lanquan li jorn son lonc e may (When the days are long, in May)" written by the troubadour Jaufre Rudel (d.c. 1148).
Author: Brigdh
Ratings/Warnings: PG/T. Some slight references to violence.
Disclaimer: The Benjamin January mysteries are by Barbara Hambly.
Notes: OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE I LITERALLY WROTE THIS WHOLE THING IN A WEEK.
A million thanks to
somebraveapollo, for very last-minute beta duty. Written for
hc_bingo for the prompts: dungeons, hypoglycemia/low blood sugar, nervous breakdown, and homesickness (wild card). Summary: A Medieval Europe AU, set in the 12th-century Holy Roman Empire. Ben has been captured in battle and imprisoned in a dungeon. If he wants to get back to his home and Ayasha, he'll need to break out, get help, and walk across half of Europe. (This can be read without canon knowledge, but you should totally read the books and then squee about them with me.)
9,821 words. Also available on AO3
Many Are the Crossings and the Roads
They’d put him in the dungeon, and then they’d left, and Benjamin was beginning to think they would never come back. Perhaps this was no normal dungeon, but rather an oubliette. Perhaps they’d forgotten about him. Perhaps they had meant to return, but had been struck down by plague or battle or some God-sent devastation. Sometimes, when he had convinced himself that he’d been abandoned here, he thought about shouting until someone heard, no matter how angry they might be. He hadn’t yet. Not because he was ashamed of his fear, but because he dreaded to scream into the silence only to get no response.
The dungeon was damp, cold, and dark. The German winter was unlike any he had known before, and these stone walls were no protection. They might keep out the snow and the howling wind, but they seemed to convey the cold directly to his bones. The damp worked against him, leaching away what warmth he might have retained; now and then he heard a drop of water fall, somewhere in the distance and the dark.
And it was the dark that was the worst. This must be what being blinded was like, he thought; he couldn’t see his hands before his face, or the stones of his cell, though he supposed they were the same red sandstone blocks as the rest of the castle. It made it difficult to tell if he was awake or asleep, and he sought what comfort he could from that, retreating into memories of his home in Salerno, where warm breezes carried the scents of orange trees and the ocean. The best memories were those of Ayasha, his wife, who waited for him there, warm and welcoming as the land itself.
They’d left him a jar of water. It was icy and tasted faintly of fish, but seemed clean enough. No food, though. In a way, it was reassuring. It gave him some sense of how much time had passed. Between the dark and the isolation, it sometimes seemed that he must have been in this dungeon for months, even years. But how long could a man go without food?
Unless he had died without knowing it, and his bones, unconsecrated, still lay here beneath Trifels Castle, long forgotten and forever damned to wait. Perhaps Ayasha and all of Salerno had lived and passed long centuries ago; perhaps everyone he knew, including himself, was so much dust and ash; perhaps he would be here, alone, until Judgement Day.
When light approached, glimmering faintly against the stone walls of the corridor, Benjamin could have wept for joy.
He’d been in the dark for so long that the light seemed bright as the sun, and he held up a hand to protect his eyes. When he could see again, he found a woman standing before the dungeon’s bars, a horn lantern in one hand and a basket in the other. She was darker than was common in these Norman lands, and for a moment Benjamin wondered if he had gone mad and begun to see visions. He would have been grateful for any living presence, but it was Ayasha– beautiful, dark-skinned, black-eyed Ayasha, who could look like a desert spirit even when he wasn’t ill and alone– that he most longed for. But no. On a second look, this woman was tall and slim, her face prim and oval-shaped. She resembled short, high-spirited Ayasha not at all.
Disappointed warred with relief that he hadn’t entirely lost his senses. The woman knelt on the ground, well back from where he might be able to reach her through the bars, and set the lantern to her side before sorting through the basket. “You are Benjamin Ianuarius?” She spoke in Latin, and spoke it well, her words confident. Benjamin was grateful; the common language here was German, and he could speak that only haltingly.
“I am.”
She nodded and pulled a loaf of bread from her basket, placing it on the floor halfway between them, moving carefully to keep her hand out of his reach. A small wedge of soft cheese went beside it. Benjamin all but lunged for them, immediately tearing off a hunk of the bread with his teeth and swallowing it half-chewed. It was good: fresh, still warm on the inside, just the right crispness to the crust. She watched him coolly, registering neither disgust at his lack of manners nor pity for his deprivation. “If you eat so fast, you’ll make yourself sick,” she said.
She was right, and he forced himself to wait before taking another bite. He studied her; she was dressed as a nun, her wimple pulled tight to keep her hair from showing, and its white cloth was severe against her warm brown skin. She wore no gloves or jewelry, and her fingers were chapped with cold and work. Her habit was coarse black wool, and the rosary at her waist was made of simple bone beads. No noblewoman this, despite the evidence of her learning. “Who are you?”
“My name is Rose. I and my sisters are here to care for you.”
“Your sisters?”
Her smile was surprisingly wry for a nun. “There were prisoners taken other than you, you know.”
He remembered searching the dungeon on his knees in the dark, passing his hands over the floor cautiously. He wasn’t sure what he’d been looking for– a key? another door? a body?– but he’d found nothing. Mostly he had touched old straw, rotted to soft shreds, and in the corners something that felt like slime but which he supposed was only mold. At least it had passed the time. “I’d begun to think I was the only person here, free or not.”
She looked down. “That was... uncharitable of Duke Leopold. From now on, you should be seen to each day.”
“By you?”
“No, not necessarily. It could be any of my sisters.” Again dry humor escaped from beneath her serious demeanor. “They’re better nurses than I am, anyway. If you’re lucky, perhaps Sister Agnes will tend to you tomorrow. Her heart has been greatly moved by the plight of Tancred’s soldiers, and she considers herself honor-bound to show you every kindness.” Her smile flashed, brief as before. “And her eyes are very blue.”
“Does she speak Latin as well as you?”
“Ah, no,” Rose admitted, her face once more still. “Agnes did not take her vows out of a longing for our abbey’s education. Her family did not wish to pay her dowry.”
Benjamin wasn’t surprised by that, but the trace of bitterness in Rose’s voice made him wish he was. “I think I’d prefer it if you came instead, then,” he said, wanting to speak of lighter things.
She didn’t respond. She’d brought him water and a bowl for washing, and now she pushed them toward him. “Wash your face. You have blood dried here.” She touched her own face, behind the temple and near the right ear, though on her the spot was hidden beneath cloth. He echoed her movement, and winced when his fingers brushed across hot, swollen flesh. He gently probed the area, and though it hurt, there was no wave of dizziness or grayness to his vision, signs that would have indicated an injury to the skull. He wet the cloth Rose had provided and sponged carefully at the wound, but when he was done she shook her head and insisted he clean it again. Even this second pass did not meet her approval.
She started to rise from her knees, and then hesitated, eyes on him as though she could read trustworthiness, or its lack, from his face. Uncertain of how to reassure her, Benjamin sat motionless, but she made her decision without his assistance. She finished rising and moved close, taking the cloth from his grasp and washing his face herself. Her touch was not particularly gentle, but neither was she rough. She was rather like a woman doing laundry: thorough but detached. This near, he could see that her eyes were lighter than he had expected, a gray-green color like Salerno’s port on a stormy day.
Finished, she sat back and repacked her basket, preparing to take away the bowl, cloth, and lantern. “Wait,” he said, and she paused, glancing at him. “Leave the lantern. Please.” As soon as he’d said it, he felt foolish; of course he couldn’t expect her to walk the halls in the dark, and she might have many other prisoners to see to.
But when she spoke, she said, “The wick will only last another hour.”
“That’s enough.”
She pushed the lantern nearer him, again maintaing her distance, though she had been close enough moments before. He thanked her as courteously as he knew how, but she merely nodded, and took her leave silently.
Rose came again the next day, and the day after that. Though occasionally his food and water was brought by other nuns, none of them fascinated him as Rose had, and he looked forward to her appearance each day. Her visits began to last longer, and she would sit on the flagstones of the corridor to talk to him. Benjamin felt as though the long hours he spent alone made words build up inside him like water behind a dam, and they rushed out in Rose’s presence; he told her stories of his childhood, of Ayasha and his family, of his life before he had been swept up in Tancred’s war. So much had been destroyed, and all over which cousin should sit the throne of Sicily. As far as Benjamin was concerned, the difference between the two was negligible. He and Rose spoke of the meaning of war, and of things they’d seen and things they’d only heard of, myths and histories and children’s rhymes.
Rose was no simple maid. Though she listened more than she spoke, from what she did say and from her questions, he gathered that she had never traveled far, but she had read her Bible and saints’ lives, and even the stories of the Greeks and Romans. He’d tried to impress her once with a tale from Homer, only to find she knew it better than he did. But she hungered to know more of the world, and he tried to describe it for her.
“My home is Salerno. It’s a port city, and people from every land live there: Arabs and Jews, Greeks and Africans, and of course now you Normans as well. The weather is dry and hot, but the wind blows strongly from the mountains to the gulf, and a river runs through the city with fresh, cool water.” He closed his eyes to better picture what he couldn’t put into words: how the white and tawny stone of the buildings reflected the sun’s glare, how the arches and narrow pillars and courtyards made hidden spots of shade on the hottest summer day, how grapevines smelled when he passed beneath a trellis. Salerno was a bubbling mix of people, scholars and merchants and soldiers, confusing and chaotic and deeply beloved. It was his home, and his heart ached for it, for the sound of its many languages and the comforts of his own small house, for his sisters and mother and wife.
Rose was interested in more useful information, though. “Is it true they have a great school there?”
“The Schola Medica Salernitana? Of course. I trained there myself.”
Benjamin was proud of his schooling, but Rose didn’t seem impressed, absorbed in some thought of her own. This day she sat with her side against the door of the dungeon, with Benjamin close on the other side. She’d ceased to be so aware of the distance between them, and he was glad of it. He would have liked to touch her, though only as friend, only to share in another person’s presence, but he refrained, afraid to lose what trust he’d earned.
“I have heard,” Rose began uncertainly, and then revised her words. “People say they train women there.”
“Yes, there are many women students. Some of them even stay when they have finished, and become teachers themselves.”
Rose turned her face from him, and her voice was hard. “Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not,” he said, startled by her sudden anger.
“I have been told that women should learn to read only so that they may know their Scriptures. Aristotle said, the male is by nature superior, and the female inferior; the one rules, and the other is ruled. This principle, of necessity, extends to all mankind.”
“He did,” Benjamin said softly. “Nonetheless, women teach at Salerno.”
The lantern on the floor made a popping sound, and she opened one panel to trim the wick. When she had finished, and closed its case of horn again, she asked, “Are they hated, these women?”
He would have liked to speak comfortingly to her, but he had already seen her anger when she’d thought he lied. “By some,” he admitted. “But not by all. Many respect them for their knowledge. Some of the women have gathered great wealth from the patients who come to them. It is a hard choice, I’ve no doubt, but it is their choice. And the ones I’ve known have seemed happy.”
She took a breath as though she would speak, but only sat silently for a time, her eyes on the lantern and her hands fisted on her knees, the knuckles knotted like tree roots. When she finally did speak, it was to ask him of other cities he had seen. He told her of Naples and Rome, Florence and Palermo. None of them sparked the same barely-contained desire in her eyes as when he spoke of Salerno and its school. On subsequent days, she asked him questions that came close to the topic, but she never spoke of it directly, as though it were a fire she might burn herself on. He was kind to her; he enjoyed their conversations, and besides, he knew how it was to want something so badly that it erased all other considerations.
“Why did you become a nun?” he asked her once, trying to delay her departure.
“For the glory of God,” she replied, but the words were rote, and she didn’t look away from repacking the basket she always carried.
“And if you had could make that choice again?” he pressed, even as she stood and began to move off.
She stopped. “No one can remake a choice. Perhaps sometimes there comes a chance to make a new choice, but only if you are willing to give up what you already have.” Her back was very straight as she walked away.
Benjamin dreamed he was home, sitting in his own kitchen besides Ayasha. He knew it was a dream; the colors were too bright, objects too sharp-edged. The ridges of the wooden table he sat at were like deep canyons, and the sky out of the window was a startling sapphire blue. He’d grown used to the pale winter sky here in the north, the color of a tunic washed too frequently. There was a plate of food before Ayasha, baby octopus and olives and lemons, and flatbread dusted with white flour. She smiled and pushed the plate toward him. “Aren’t you hungry? What do those Normans feed you– onions and cabbage?”
Benjamin would have been grateful for an onion, or anything other than bread and cheese, but he didn’t bother to correct her. It was only a dream. Her hair was down, like an ocean of black curls, still wet from her morning bath. She wore only her chemise, and her hair had soaked the cloth on her shoulders and back so he that could almost see her skin through the linen. He wondered if he touched her hair, if he would feel its coarse texture and the cool beads of water, or if that would end the dream. “This isn’t real.”
She shook her head, certain that she knew better than him. It was such a familiar gesture that his heart thumped painfully. “Eat, malik.”
The octopus was red as wine, and he could see black spots where the tentacles had crisped against the pan. The olives were green and slick with their own oil, the lemon’s yellow flesh bright against its white pith. Ayasha laughed at his hesitation, and tossed an olive into her mouth, then spit the seed into her palm. “See? No magic here. You’re too fond of those old stories.”
He let her give him an olive, but only marveled at its smell, the feel of its flesh in his hand. “I will come back here. I promise you. No matter what it takes–”
Ayasha laughed again, interrupting him. “I know you will.” Her large eyes were heavy-lidded, as though she were fresh come from their bed. He remembered her in bed, her curved body warm and soft against his own. “Just don’t take long, eh, malik?”
He reached out to touch her cheek, and woke just before his fingers brushed her skin.
It was difficult to keep track of the hours in this dungeon, but he thought it was still night when light appeared unexpectedly down the hall. Rose had brought him food and water not long before, certainly not a whole day previously. She had been behaving strangely, though, even quieter than usual and with a nervous air such as she had not had since the day they met. It had put him in mind of a bird, easily startled into flight no matter how he tried to coax it closer.
The bars of the dungeon were too narrow to admit his head, and so he was forced to wait until the light, and its bearer, reached him. Benjamin wasn’t sure what to expect, but it proved to be a young man, dressed in heavy traveling clothes with a loaded pack strapped to his back. He met Benjamin’s eyes with a mixture of defiance and worry, as though he expected Benjamin to protest his presence.
Benjamin recognized him with a start. It wasn’t a young man at all, but Rose, dressed in a man’s clothes and with her head uncovered. A nun, she had shorn her hair short, making her look like a patient only recently recovered from fever. Even through his shock, he felt a frisson of awareness at the sight of her hair, a darker brown than her skin, though not nearly so dark as Ayasha’s. He wondered if it were longer, if it would curl.
“They’re sending you away tomorrow,” she said. She’d deepened her voice, not enough to be obviously false, but enough to give her costume a sense of realism. “Not only you, but all the prisoners. The Duke is currying favor with Emperor Henry.”
Benjamin took hold of the bars. “Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about our ransoms? I thought word would be sent to our homes–”
“I don’t know,” Rose said again, cutting him off. “It no longer matters.”
“I think it does,” he began, but Rose ignored him. She looked back down the corridor from where she’d come, took a deep breath, and knelt before the dungeon’s door. He thought she was praying, and instinctively broke off his angry words out of respect. But in the quiet that followed, he heard not murmured Scripture or the clink of rosary beads, but a metallic scraping sound. He craned his head, trying to see behind the wooden parts of the door. “What are you doing?”
She hushed him. “I haven’t had much practice at this. I need to concentrate.”
The scratch of metal on metal continued, followed by a small clunk, like dice falling, and the door swung open. Rose had what appeared to be a fish-hook and a pin in her hands, though she quickly tucked them back into her pack. She seemed slightly smug.
“Did you pick the lock?” Benjamin asked. “I’m beginning to think you’re not really a nun.”
She didn’t laugh with him. “I am. I took the vows.”
He had no response to that. Rose handed him a heavy cloak and boots, and waited while he put them on. The boots were small, but close enough to the right size that he was surprised, and the cloak was very welcome in these chilly halls, even if it still held someone else’s scent. He wondered who Rose had taken it from, and if they would be cold tomorrow.
When he had dressed, she led him down the corridors, gesturing for silence whenever he would have spoken. Twice they waited where two corridors crossed, backs against the wall and breath held, while servants in bright livery passed by. He could tell that Rose was leading him out of the dungeons and into the more heavily used parts of the castle; he could hear voices, the lamps on the walls were kept burning, and the rushes on the floor had been replaced recently. They passed a tapestry which he would have liked to look at more carefully, warm and colorful against the bare stone walls.
At last they came to a heavy wooden door, reinforced with black iron. Rose opened it, and cold air blew in, smelling of pine trees and snow. No light came with it, though, and when Benjamin ducked through and looked up, he saw stars, sparkling like pure white gems against the night sky. He could have whooped with delight, if he hadn’t heard German from somewhere nearby. He was still far from home, and Ayasha would never forgive him if he wasted this chance. Instead he stood still, indulging in the sense of freedom that filled him with a wild, sweet joy. Even the cold that frosted his breath and made him pull the cloak closer around himself was welcome.
Eventually he turned to thank Rose and say farewell, and found her watching him, her eyes echoing some of what he felt. He smiled and took her hand, but her mouth firmed and her slender shoulders stiffened. She’d closed the door behind her and snuffed out the rushlight she carried. He considered again the men’s clothes she wore, the pack she hadn’t handed to him to carry.
Benjamin opened his mouth to say Do you know what you’re doing?, and closed it again without speaking, aware that she’d never forgive such a question. And suddenly, it seemed, there was a future in which it mattered what Rose thought of him.
“You needn’t break your vows for me,” he said instead. “I’m not that handsome.”
Rose still didn’t return his smile, but some of the tenseness went out of her. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing this for myself. God will...” she hesitated, searching for the right word. If it had been Benjamin, he might have chosen God will permit or God will forgive, but Rose settled on “...understand.”
He nodded. It was the least she might ask of God, but perhaps it would be enough for her. “You intend to come with me to Salerno?”
She turned surprised eyes to him. “Was I that obvious? Yes.” A quiet intensity filled her voice. “I want to learn. I have always wanted it, but I thought... I thought the world was smaller than it has proved to be. I have to do this.”
He let her words ring in the silence of the winter night, and wondered what Ayasha would think of this gawky, scholarly woman he had begun to admire. “I hope Salerno proves worthy of you,” he said, and together they left the shadow of the castle wall.
Benjamin was weaker than he’d realized. Long weeks of forced inactivity in the dungeon had sapped his strength, and a diet of little more than bread and water had left him lightheaded and shaky when he tried to go any faster than a walk. He could tell that Rose was worried, but she said nothing, and tried to support his weight when he stumbled.
They heard pursuit before they’d gone more than a few leagues. Rose cursed– surprisingly fluently for a nun– and he knew she had expected to cover a greater distance. They were surrounded by flat fields, blanketed with thick snow that would make their footprints unmistakable if they left the road. With no other choice, they forged on, Benjamin forcing his legs to move despite feeling like his heart would pound its way out of his chest. It was hard to tell how far behind the pursuit was; the crisp, cold air carried sound too well. Benjamin was just considering how to persuade Rose to continue on without him when they reached the top of a rise and saw a hall not too far away. It was small, and built only of timber rather than stone, but it had separate entrances for the living quarters and the stables, and the yard was a morass of mud and frozen puddles, sure to hold no track. It might be enough to save them.
They hurried toward the stable door without needing to discuss it. Benjamin ran his hands over the door, looking for the latch, but it pushed opened slightly under his touch; it had only been pulled against the frame, and not locked. Inside were several cows and a horse, a swaybacked, elderly creature, clearly more suited to the plow than for riding. One cow raised her head and snorted at the intrusion of strangers, but though she watched them cautiously, she did nothing more.
Above the animals was a shallow loft, evidently used for storing hay. A crude ladder stood nearby, and Benjamin and Rose scrambled up it, huddling behind the hay bales furthest from the door. The air was warm, scented with the clean bodies of the animals and the summer-grass note of the hay. It would have been a pleasant place to sleep, if they hadn’t been followed.
It wasn’t long before their pursuers arrived, announcing their presence with a tumult of hoofbeats and angry voices. The walls could do with a new coat of plaster, and Benjamin could see torches flickering through the cracks. He tried futilely to press himself further back against the wall, and felt Rose doing the same. There was the clink of mail as someone dismounted outside; no hope of fighting, then.
The door was shoved open roughly, and the cows stirred, upset at this new disturbance. The horse whinnied, alarming them further.
“Come out,” a voice shouted in German. It was a small stable, the ladder in plain sight; Benjamin wondered how many moments it would be before he and Rose were found, and if it wouldn’t be better not to force the knights to search.
“I’m right here, though I can’t imagine what you want with me. If your lady is so desperate for music, why of course I will oblige her, but I do think she might have waited until morning. I would have liked to wash my face before seeing her, and perhaps changed my shirt. Does she like blue?” It was not one of Leopold’s knights, though the German was smooth and sweet as any noble’s. There was someone else in the stable.
“Not you.” The knight paced, the shadows leaping crazily as he swung the torch. “I know they came this way. Is there anyone else in here?”
“It’s only me and the cows.”
“Don’t dare lie on this matter, singer. I’m searching for a Saracen knight, black as the devil himself, and if he doesn’t kill you, God will strike you down for protecting a heathen. The Saracen abducted a nun before he ran.”
“Why would I lie? I’ve been sleeping here since sunset, and I’m fairly certain I would have noticed a knight and a shrieking nun. They don’t sound like a particularly stealthy pair.”
The knight disparaged the man’s parentage and called down plagues on all Saracens, but stomped back outside and ordered his followers onward. The cheerful voice called out good wishes, which were ignored, and the knights departed in a whirlwind of noise. The cows and horse continued to move about restlessly, but otherwise all was still. If the farmer and his family in the hall had woken– and how could they not have?– they’d judged it best to avoid the Duke’s men.
The stable door creaked as it was closed. “They’re gone now. You can come down, if you like.”
Benjamin exchanged a glance with Rose. She shrugged, leaving the choice to him. He wasn’t inclined to trust some stranger chance-met, but there seemed little point in continuing to hide. He crawled to the edge of the loft and looked down.
The man’s voice might have been a lord’s, but his clothes were wool and well-worn. Hay stuck to his tunic and in his hair, and he seemed to have been sleeping in a pile of it that Benjamin had dismissed as fodder. That was a mistake which might have cost him dearly, though perhaps this once it had been good luck.
“Well, you don’t look like any nun I’ve ever seen,” said the man, “so I suppose you must be the Saracen.”
“I’m a Christian,” Benjamin said defensively.
“Excellent. I suppose God will refrain from striking me down, then. Unless you did defile the nun. I quite like nuns.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” Benjamin protested again, drawn into the ridiculous argument despite himself. “I’m a married man, and I have never broken my vows to my wife.”
The man spread his hands in a gesture of benediction. “She hath received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins. Do come down. I feel as though I’m speaking to a cloud. Or perhaps a star, given the hour.”
Benjamin could think of no reason not to. The man seemed harmless enough, and had sent away the knights. When he and Rose had descended the ladder and stood on the earth once more, the stranger took in Rose’s slim form and short hair, and swept her a bow far too elaborate for a stable, or her male dress. “And you must be the still-chaste nun. Which saint have you graced by taking her name? Catherine, perhaps?”
Rose was not amused by the flattery, and she made no move to offer him her hand. Benjamin noticed a hard knot bunch at the corner of her jaw, a sign of fear, and it occurred to him how vulnerable she was, alone with two men far from her abbey. She might have claimed protection from Leopold’s knights, but she had chosen not to; anything that happened now or in the future would be seen as her own fault.
The stranger must have come to the same realization, for he clasped his hands behind himself and took a step away. “How rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself first. I’m called Hannibal.”
Benjamin’s eyebrows raised. “Have you stabled your elephants on the other side of the hall, General?”
Hannibal shrugged. “Well, the roof in here was so low.”
“Thank you,” Rose said, her manner formal but less hard. “You had no reason to offer your assistance, and we are grateful. My name is Rose, and this is Benjamin Ianuarius.”
“I’ve never been fond of Leopold. The man has a nasty temper.” Hannibal grinned. “I only thought to trick them out of a good night’s sleep, but I am more than happy to have been of service to two desperate, ah, pilgrims.”
Rose smiled. “Pilgrims,” she agreed. “Of a sort.”
Benjamin slept little that night, certain that Leopold’s knights would realize Hannibal had been lying and come back. But despite his racing mind and the multiple times he sat bolt upright, startled awake at some perfectly normal night noise, when dawn arrived he and Rose were still free.
He woke her early, wanting to leave before they had to explain to the farmer how his stable had acquired two extra guests during the night. She roused easily, and he realized that she would be used to waking at this time for the service at Prime; he wondered if she would miss that firm routine of prayer and work, wondered if her friends knew she was missing yet. There would be an empty space this morning in the rows of kneeling nuns, a missing voice in the chants.
Outside the air was freezing, not yet warmed by the sun’s rays, though it was light enough to see. Hannibal had woken with them, gathered his belongings and wrapped himself against the chill, but it wasn’t until he was standing with them on the road that ran south that Benjamin realized he intended to join them. Hannibal was a small man, thin and weak-looking, but Benjamin had won his freedom too recently to trust easily.
Rose, however, seemed to disagree. “Another person would be useful on the road, particularly for a journey as long as ours,” she said. “If you go our way, we should travel together.”
“Do you intend to go far, then?”
Benjamin nodded. “Very far. Past the borders of this Holy Roman Empire.” That wasn’t strictly true; the Normans had ruled Salerno for a generation now, but it was hard to think of his home as the same kingdom as this bare and frosty land. “But Rose is right. You’re welcome to travel with us, if you like, for as far as you’re going.”
“I’m not going anywhere. And south seems as good as any other direction, particularly in winter.”
Rose looked at him oddly. “You must be heading somewhere. Where is your home?”
“I’m not from there, I’m not from here,” Hannibal sang, surprisingly tuneful. “And I can’t do a thing / I was left by the fairies one morn / On some high hill.”
“You’re a troubadour,” Benjamin said, surprised.
“No. Troubadours play to lords for gold; I play to farmers, for bread or the right to sleep in their hayloft for a night. Also, troubadours have generally seen the ladies they sing about.” He looked up at Benjamin, a smile curving one side of his mouth. “Or more than seen.”
“How do you travel safely, on your own?” Rose asked.
Hannibal shrugged. “Quite frequently I don’t. But I’ve little enough to steal, and so far I’ve always kept my life.”
Rose frowned, and crossed her arms. “Well, three is better than one, at least.”
On that hopeful note, they set out. The day brightened, but never grew much warmer. What people they passed were mostly peasants, visiting their neighbors or returning from the forest with baskets of firewood or trapped game. Hannibal proved to be a talkative companion, singing to himself when he had nothing else to say. His manners were courtly, if his current situation was not, and it soon transpired that his Latin, Occitan, and even Arabic were as polished as his German had been. He spoke like a man who had read much, without the elisions and imprecise grammar of most people. Benjamin began to suspect that his claim to not know lords and ladies was a lie.
But he was useful. He knew the land better than either Benjamin, a foreigner, or Rose, who must not have often left her abbey. She gazed about her with a curiosity and pleasure that overwhelmed her usual reserve, and which called an answering lightness from Benjamin’s soul. It was good to be once more in the sun, to hear birds singing, to stretch his legs. He had only seen these roads once before, and that with an injury to the head and his hands lashed to the saddle horn. What little he had been aware enough to see on that ride he only half-remembered: flashes of dark green pine trees or high, steep-sided hills. Anything more useful, such as routes or stopping points, they both relied on Hannibal to know.
When it began to grow dark, Rose said she thought it was best to avoid people until they were further from Trifels Castle, and Benjamin couldn’t dispute the wisdom of that, though they’d seen no knights all day. They made a fire under the trees, far enough from the road that its light wouldn’t be seen. She had also packed blankets and food, and he praised her foresight. The food wouldn’t carry them all the way to Salerno, of course, but it would grant them several days’ travel before they would have to barter for their meals. Hannibal had a few dried apples and eggs, carefully wrapped against breaking, which he shared with them.
The firelight emphasized the narrowness of Hannibal’s face, the hollows beneath his cheekbones. He was generous and clever and witty, and Benjamin would have liked to count him as a friend. But though Rose had her own reasons for freeing and accompanying him, Hannibal’s motivations were less clear. And Benjamin was wary, although he knew the Bible said, Love ye therefore the stranger, for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt.
That was the difficulty. He had been held captive and mistreated, all for the sake of a crown that had nothing to do with him or his family. He was angry at what had been done to him, and afraid lest it should be done again. Benjamin could not extend an open hand as easily as he once had, and though he regretted it, he could not put his mistrust entirely aside. Perhaps he could only wait, and see if his heart healed, and grew less hard.
“Who should take the first watch?” he said, and let their talk move from there.
Their days settled into a pattern. Nights came early, in this season and this land, and often they covered no more than a few leagues before they had to halt and work for that day’s lodging and food. Hannibal said no word of tiring of their company, and Benjamin had to admit that was for the best. It was Hannibal’s skills that proved most serviceable. Rose could read at least three languages, and was well acquainted with the knowledge of the ancients, but she spoke little around strangers, preferring not to betray her male clothes with a too-high voice. Benjamin had served as a soldier and trained in medicine, but the first was in little demand at the farms and monasteries where they spent most nights. A doctor of Salerno could have set any price, but they were rare this far from Sicily, and word of one’s presence would be sure to quickly spread. He wasn’t sure how long Duke Leopold would have spent searching for one lost captive– and one whose ransom would have been little enough– but he didn’t want to take the risk.
As he began to recover his strength from the dungeon, at least he could offer his labor. Often enough people were grateful for an extra hand to haul water, chop wood, or re-thatch a roof. And so they made their way south, three unremarkable travelers on the road among the other pilgrims, merchants, and landless men.
They had reached Lombardy, and were passing the night in a Benedictine monastery. Benjamin and Rose bedded down early, blankets spread close to the kitchen hearth, but Hannibal sat up, arms wrapped around his knees and humming softly. Benjamin recognized the melody. Nearly asleep, he found himself reciting the words in his mind:
Hail holy queen, mother of mercy,
Our life, our sweetness, and our hope.
To thee we, poor banished children of Eve, lift our crying.
To thee we are sighing,
Mourning and weeping in this land of exile.
Turn thou, O our intercessor,
Thine eyes of mercy towards us,
Lead us home at last.
It wasn’t the sort of song Hannibal usually sang; he tended to favor love songs, or the lighter sort of satire. Benjamin had always loved music, and if he had not become a doctor, he might have been a musician. He and Hannibal often talked of music, while they walked or did some farmer’s chores; Hannibal knew not just many songs, but much of the theory and history of music as well. Benjamin liked to listen to him sing or play his instrument; his skill was extraordinary, and Benjamin frequently found himself moved by the music Hannibal could create, the way he could pull achingly pure notes from the air and spin them into something grand. Most of all, he liked to sing with Hannibal, to be part of such gold and brilliant music himself.
And now as he drowsed, the voice he heard in his mind was Hannibal’s light tenor. He had heard Hannibal singing this song that afternoon, while he and Rose turned over the soil in the monastery's herb garden in preparation for the spring planting. The garden had been near the church, and through its windows they’d been able to hear Hannibal teaching his surprisingly large repertoire of plainchant. He would lead a song, and then the monks’ massed voices would echo him. The music was solemn and slow, the many voices blending into a single perfect unison. Without the sight of the mortal men it came from, Benjamin could easily have believed it to be the music of angels. He had given himself over to it, finding a place of wordless prayer in the music, and he had felt close to Ayasha and his family and his home church in Salerno.
He knew he lay only in a dim foreign kitchen, empty except for Rose’s shape beneath her blankets and Hannibal’s silhouette against the fire. But there was comfort enough in that, and the sound of Hannibal’s quiet humming led him into sleep.
They were heading down through the Col de Montgenèvre, nearly out of the Alps, when a late blizzard blew down fast and fierce. The sky had been gray all day, the sun never quite having risen, but there’d been no wind and Benjamin had thought it was safe enough to hurry over the last leagues lying between them and level ground. Truthfully, perhaps he had been too happy at the thought of coming closer to Salerno and Ayasha to give the weather its due consideration. He was paying for it now; the sky had gone black and the snow blew horizontal, stinging his cheeks and crusting at the corner of his eyes. He had wrapped his blanket over his cloak, but the wind was strong enough to drive ice through both layers. Where his skin was exposed, it burned with cold. And the storm had only just begun; it would be death to remain in it for much longer.
Rose and Hannibal were also using their blankets as protection, and the three of them trudged silently along, not wanting to uncover their faces to speak. Snow had already begun to accumulate on the path, making it easy to slip or accidentally wander off it, especially with the light getting worse. Benjamin wondered what they would look like to someone looking down on them, perhaps God or one of the saints: three shapeless brown lumps, like some mix of turtle and mouse, trudging across a field of white. The thought of them being watched over brought him comfort, and he was beginning to believe they would be all right, when he glanced back to see Hannibal swaying aimlessly across the road only to stop still before falling.
By the time Benjamin had rushed back to him, Hannibal had sat up, but he made no move to rise, and shook his head when Benjamin offered him a hand. Hannibal had never done well in the coldest weather, and this day he had been falling further and further behind Benjamin and Rose, stopping often to rest but only moving slower when they resumed. Snow had caught in his hair like streaks of grey, but he wasn’t shivering. His breathing was slow and shallow, and when Benjamin took his wrist to feel his pulse, it was weak. Benjamin had never before had cause to treat a patient suffering from too much cold, but he had heard of this, and it wasn’t good. They had come so far, and it was almost spring; to have this happen now, when they deserved an easy end to their journey, wasn’t fair. But this storm had all the rage of winter’s last gasp, the season determined not to end without taking its toll.
Hannibal pulled back his hand and concealed it beneath his blanket, pulling the edges tighter around his shoulders as he did. “I’ll be fine in a little while. You and Rose needn’t wait for me; go on ahead, and I’ll catch up once I’ve gotten warm again.”
“You’re not going to get warm by sitting here,” Rose said, having turned back herself to come and stand above them.
“It’s not much further,” Benjamin said gently. “I saw a town wall from the last rise, not far back. A few more leagues.”
“Only a few more leagues.” Hannibal’s smile was like the grimace of a skull, his skin even whiter than usual and no light in his eyes. “I’m glad. I’ll catch up to you there, then. Don’t worry, I’ll have no trouble finding you in a town. The nun and the Saracen.” He chuckled, and then a great shiver racked his body.
Benjamin exchanged a look with Rose; from the set expression of her lips and the narrowness of her eyes, she shared his thought. He reached down and dragged Hannibal to his feet; the musician struggled a little, but didn’t seem to have full control of his limbs and was too weak to shake off Benjamin’s grip. “No one will miss me. You have a home. Rose– you will have a home, too, even if you don’t now. You mustn’t lose that just because a useless fool took to following after you–”
“Shut up,” Benjamin said, looping Hannibal’s arm around his neck and keeping a firm hold on his wrist in case he continued to protest. Rose wedged her shoulder under his other arm, and between them they supported Hannibal down the road. It was an awkward way to walk, particularly in the face of the wind and snow, but Benjamin could think of few other options. At first Hannibal tried to help, but by the time they reached the town gate an hour later, he hung limp, all but unconscious, his chin bouncing against his chest and his feet barely lifting for each step.
Benjamin spent most of their little stock of coin on a room in an inn, hot water, and broth, and by that evening there was color again in Hannibal’s face, and the terrible blue tint to his fingernails and lips was gone. He was slightly feverish, but not enough to worry about. He sat swaddled in blankets on the inn’s bed– a goose down mattress, an unnecessary extravagance, but there’d been nothing else available– talking of Virgil and Saint Augustine with Rose and warming his hands on a cup of mulled wine.
“Hic tantum Boreae curamus frigora, / Quantum aut numerum lupus aut torrentia flumina ripas,” he said, voice somewhat hoarse but clear. Out in the storm, his words had been slurred and mumbled in a way Benjamin had never heard from him before, even when he’d had enough wine to make him clumsy. “At least not as long as you’re about. I suppose if you get tired of dragging my hide through blizzards, I might have to fear the winter once more.”
Rose took the wine from Hannibal to drink some herself. “I don’t think you need worry about that. Besides, Benjamin says it never snows in Sicily. I’m not sure I believe him, but I do believe I could be content to never see snow again.”
Benjamin touched Hannibal’s shoulder, pressing hard to be sure he felt it through the layers of blanket. “Virgil also said Cantantes licet usque- minus via laedit- eamus, you know. And since you haven’t taught me all of your songs yet, and Rose has a terrible voice–” she laughed and kicked his ankle, “–we need you for the singing.”
Hannibal smiled down at his hands, his long fingers interwoven. “I could not have asked you to risk yourselves for me, but I am relived that you did. I am in your debt, and grateful to be so.”
Hannibal fell asleep not long after that, exhausted by his ordeal and overwhelmed by the rare comforts of the inn. Benjamin lay next to him on the featherbed; Hannibal was sleeping too soundly to appreciate it, and someone should do so. Besides, Hannibal’s breath still rasped slightly, and by sharing the bed, Benjamin could monitor it and the progress of his fever. He was looking forward to sleeping through the night, courtesy of a door that locked and thus no need to keep watch.
Rose moved from her seat at the foot of the bed to pause awkwardly in the center of the room.
“There’s room for you as well,” Benjamin said.
“I know.” She snuffed out the candles, leaving only a single rushlight to cast a faint glow, just enough to discern her outline. Outside the inn, the storm continued, the wind howling around the eaves and rattling the shutters in their frames.
He wondered again what had led her to become a nun, and what she thought of the vows she’d left behind. He tried to imagine not seeing her every day, not seeing her cool profile or brief smiles, the soft halo of fuzz over her scalp as her hair grew longer. He could never have come so far without her, he knew. “Hannibal was right. You do have a home, if you want it. You will always have a home with me.”
Rose was silent. She pulled off her tunic, her shirt and the darkness obscuring the shape of her limbs, and folded it on the stool. She felt at the edge of the bed, and Benjamin held back the covers for her as she lay beside him. He recognized her act for the sign of trust that it was, and something loosened in his chest. Hannibal stirred slightly on his other side, but didn’t wake, curling against him in an unconscious search for warmth. When Benjamin dreamed, it was of Ayasha flirting with Hannibal and holding hands with Rose.
The Apennines were nothing like the Alps had been. These mountains were green, and now, in early April, abundantly so, at least where they were not dotted with the purple and white of wildflowers, or yellow fields of young wheat. It was a landscape very similar to Benjamin’s home, and sometimes he even thought he caught a glimpse of the sea, far to the west.
The familiarity gave him heart he hadn’t had before, and sometimes he found himself walking so fast that he had to stop and wait for Hannibal and Rose to catch up. They didn’t mind, though; as Rose came even with him, she glanced up with one of her quicksilver smiles, there and gone, though its warmth remained in her face. Hannibal grinned more widely, and companionably bumped against Benjamin as he passed. He turned, walking backwards, and began to sing:
“During May, when the days are long,
I rejoice in the songs of birds from far away
For now that I have traveled far
I remember a love far away.”
Benjamin knew the song, and though he did feel a twinge of yearning at the words, it wasn’t as bad as it would have been mere weeks before. Now he could laugh in acknowledgement of the teasing, his sense of homecoming stronger than his heartache. He joined in on the next verse, his deep voice providing an anchor for Hannibal’s lighter one.
“Ah! I wish I could go as a pilgrim,
So that my staff and hooded cloak
Would be beheld by her beautiful eyes!
But I do not know when we’ll meet,
So far away our countries are,
So many are the crossings and the roads.
Surely joy will come to me, come from afar,
When for the love of God I go there,
And if it pleases her, I shall live
Near her, although I come from far away.”
Rose turned to watch them over her shoulder, and though she didn’t join in, Benjamin suspected she knew the song just as well. The sun began to fall toward the horizon, though night was still some ways off. Light washed across the mountains and the lower, rolling hills, in tones of gold and umber; short trees cast long, hazy shadows. The world took on the look of Paradise, and Benjamin linked his arm with Hannibal as they walked, heading toward his home.
“Wake up.” Hannibal’s voice was a mere breath in his ear, his hand held up to forestall any sound Benjamin might have made. Hannibal had been keeping watch, Benjamin remembered, and surfaced from sleep with cold fear climbing his spine.
“There’s a band of knights passing on the road below, five or six of them. They saw our fire; I think they’re coming here.” It didn’t matter whose army they were part of: a small band of knights in the night, far from any town, were little different from bandits. Benjamin rolled to his side and saw that Rose was already awake, sitting up in her blankets. Her eyes were wide, glittering with reflected light from the banked fire. The three of them grabbed what they could, abandoning anything that would take too long to pack or carry. Benjamin scuffed dirt over the fire to smother it; likely the knights would still find their campsite, but that was no reason to give them a beacon toward it.
They hurried into the trees, Benjamin making frantic calculations of speed versus silence, of distance versus time. They’d gone neither as far nor as fast as he would have liked when he spotted a dense cluster of blackberry bushes. He pointed at it, and Rose and Hannibal followed, none of them speaking. The bushes had gone wild, and were a nearly impenetrable tangle of vines and canes, but that would hopefully keep them better hidden. Rose made a sudden hushed sound; a thorn had caught her on the cheek, drawing a thin line of blood that looked black in the moonlight. Benjamin found her hand and squeezed it in reassurance, and then the three of them were as far into the bushes as possible. They crouched down to be harder to see, and Benjamin prayed that he’d made the right choice.
They heard the knights arrive at the campsite, and their anger when they found nothing worth stealing. Their manner of speaking marked them as Romans, and thus perhaps followers of the Pope, though that made them no likelier to be merciful. Benjamin had hoped they would lose interest quickly and return to the road, but a flickering between the trees made it clear they were searching the woods. One knight came so near the blackberry bush that Benjamin could see the dirty white tunic he wore, marked with a Saint George’s cross– a Crusader, then. The man’s hair was dirty as well, and clung greasily to his shoulders. But what mattered was the heavy sword at his side, the beefy, calloused hand he rested on its hilt. Benjamin had no doubt that this was a man who knew how to kill. He and Rose had only small daggers; Hannibal was entirely unarmed.
He could hear Hannibal trying to breath quietly, fighting against terror as he shifted closer to Benjamin. His shoulder, thin and fragile, knocked against Benjamin’s. On his other side, Rose was silent and motionless, hard as a stone and letting slip no shiver of fear. Perhaps they should have hid separately; then, at least if one was found, the other two might still have escaped. But Benjamin knew he couldn’t have done it. Even if it was hopeless, even if he had no chance, he could not have watched from safety while these knights took or killed one of his friends. Please, he prayed, please keep them safe. Please let me see Ayasha again.
The knight swung his torch about one more time, and then turned and headed away from them.
In the morning, they found most of their food missing, as well as the nicest of the blankets. Their other goods had been kicked and dirtied, and one of their bags had been torn into uselessness. Still, Benjamin promised to sponsor a mass for the Virgin as soon as he was in Salerno.
It was late morning, not yet noon, when Benjamin finally caught sight of his home again. Ayasha sat on the edge of the plaza in front of their house, the spot she had always told him had the best light, her sewing on her lap. He started running and didn’t stop until her arms were around his neck and her mouth on his; she pulled back just long enough to laugh in triumph, and then she was kissing him again. She smelled like frankincense and sandalwood, and she was warm and alive under his hands. Even when the first rush of homecoming was over and he’d come back to himself, he still could only stare at her: her large dark eyes, the black curls escaping from her braids, her beloved face, lean and hooked-nosed and indescribably beautiful.
She recovered more quickly, and peered past him in open curiosity. He turned, only then remembering Hannibal and Rose, who stood waiting across the plaza. He saw them with new eyes, the way Ayasha must be seeing them. Rose was thin and hard from the journey, the long bones of her face prominent, the muscles of her arms and legs strong. Her hair had grown out somewhat, just enough to begin to curl, but it was still oddly short. Despite what she wore, he didn’t know how anyone could look at her and see a man. She might not have Ayasha’s lush beauty, like a rose’s, but she had the cool, sedate bearing of a lily. Hannibal’s skin was even paler than the Normans’ and oddly translucent, and it marked him as utterly foreign. His clothes were too large for his slender frame, and his wrist-bones and ankles stood out. Silent, without evidence of the exquisite music he made or his obliging good nature or the bright, openhearted joy he was capable of, he looked small and out of place. He’d put a hand on Rose’s shoulder, both of them dirty and weary, their clothes ragged. Benjamin turned back to Ayasha, searching for how to begin to explain, for the words that could encompass everything that had happened. But she smiled and stepped out of his arms, extending her hands to the two who stood awkwardly on the threshold.
“Welcome home,” she said.
Notes: This story is set sometime in the late 1100s, though I tried to be as vague as possible to keep myself from having to do more research. Judging by the length of these notes, I did not succeed.
Real places appearing in this story:
Salerno
Trifels Castle
Schola Medica Salernitana
The Kingdom of Sicily
Col de Montgenèvre
Apennine Mountains
And here's a nice map of the whole area they crossed, with the starting point being between Worms and Toul.
Real people appearing in this story:
Duke Leopold
Tancred
Emperor Henry
Ianuarius is Latin for January.
The male is by nature superior, and the female inferior; the one rules, and the other is ruled. This principle, of necessity, extends to all mankind.
-Aristotle, Politics, Book I Chapter V. That said, the Holy Roman Empire wasn't as terrible a place for women's education as I make it seem. Rose's abbey is partly based on Gandersheim Abbey, where a canoness named Roswitha (about 935-1002) wrote plays, poetry, legends, and comedies in Latin, and may have been the first person in the West since Antiquity to write drama.
She hath received of the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.
-Isaiah 40:2
Saint Catherine was said to have been exceptionally beautiful.
I’m not from there, I’m not from here,
And I can't do a thing
I was left by fairies one morn,
On some high hill.
-part of the song "Farai un vers de drevt nien (I've made a song devoid of sense)" written by the troubadour Guillaume de Poitiers (1071-1127)
As far as I can tell, the term "Holy Roman Empire" didn't come into use until the next century, but as it's the common modern name, I'm going with it.
Occitan is a language spoken in southern France and northern Spain, and was the most common language of troubadour poetry. Would Hannibal had known Arabic? Many of the troubadours were Crusaders themselves or closely associated with the Crusades, and some of the style of the poetry (and many of the instruments used) came from Islamic Spain. So basically, I think it's not impossible.
Love ye therefore the stranger, for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt
-Deuteronomy 10:19
Hail holy queen, mother of mercy,
Our life, our sweetness, and our hope.
To thee we, poor banished children of Eve, lift our crying.
To thee we are sighing,
Mourning and weeping in this land of exile.
Turn thou, O our intercessor,
Thine eyes of mercy towards us,
Lead us home at last.
-"Salve Regina", a Latin plainchant (aka Gregorian chant) to the Virgin Mary that probably dates to the late 900s
Hic tantum Boreae curamus frigora,
Quantum aut numerum lupus aut torrentia flumina ripas
We fear not more the winds and wintry cold,
Than streams the banks, or wolves the bleating fold.
-Virgil, Eclogues, Book VII, lines 51–52
Cantantes licit usque– minus via laedit– eamus
Let us go singing as far as we go, the road will be less tedious.
-Virgil, Eclogues, Book IX, line 64
During May, when the days are long...
-a much-shortened version of the song "Lanquan li jorn son lonc e may (When the days are long, in May)" written by the troubadour Jaufre Rudel (d.c. 1148).
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no subject
Date: 2014-02-28 11:17 pm (UTC)Favourite bit of dialogue:“Have you stabled your elephants on the other side of the hall, General?”
Hannibal shrugged. “Well, the roof in here was so low.”
Or no, maybe this one instead: “Welcome home,” she said.
Ayashaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I love how you've shown her here. (Ngl, Ben's dream had me shipping Ben/Ayasha/Rose/Hannibal.)
Occitan was a language spoken in southern France should read Occitan is, fyi.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-28 11:57 pm (UTC)And ha, yeah. I was originally thinking about changing their names to ones more accurate for the time period, but ended up going with canon. Which, for Ben and Ayasha, is totally fine! Rose is not accurate, but it sort of... sounds right, at least. But as far as I could tell, no one was using Hannibal as a name at the time. So I decided to have it be commented upon.
All OT4 subtext is TOTALLY DELIBERATE. I like the happy ending where they all get together.
Occitan was a language spoken in southern France should read Occitan is, fyi.
Oh, thank you! I didn't realize it was still around. I only ever hear it mentioned in histories.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-01 01:15 am (UTC)Really?
My grandmother will be very surprised to hear that.There are about as much people who speak occitan as people who speak breton (~3 millions even though it's hard to get exact numbers for various reasons) and there are bilingual roadsigns for both.Breton:
Occitan:
It kind of saddens me to know that you've never encountered it as a living language, ngl.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-01 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-02 01:02 am (UTC)As far as I know, my grandmother spoke a dialect of occitan and it was never her first language (although I think it was for some of her cousins). I don't think she's spoken it in years, possibly even decades. I sadly do not speak occitan, or breton, aside from a few words.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-04 08:31 pm (UTC)It is really sad how many languages are being lost these days. It's a hard balance, between making it easy to communicate and losing entire languages.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-05 12:11 am (UTC)I don't know about Occitan, but there's been a revival of teaching breton in school in recent years. Which is good! Especially the breton-speaking schools (Diwan schools).